


allégro

by awkwardwritersyndrome



Series: Korvira Week 2020 [5]
Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Character Death, F/F, Korvira Week, Korvira Week Day Five, Passion, my fuck suyin agenda continues apace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:00:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26907757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awkwardwritersyndrome/pseuds/awkwardwritersyndrome
Summary: Prompt: passion"Then the work began. She had twenty professionally trained dancers to oversee, productions to put on, and a theatre to manage. It was grueling work, but a labor of love. Kuvira was good at so many things, yet dance was her true passion. When all else was a storm of chaos, dancing was a lulling reprieve. She leaned into the work, gave all of herself, and prepared diligently for this very night."Song: Tadow x Fkj & Masego
Relationships: Korra & Kuvira (Avatar), Korra/Kuvira (Avatar)
Series: Korvira Week 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1943398
Comments: 1
Kudos: 38





	allégro

Hou Ying Dance Theatre in Zaofu has a history that stretches back centuries. The city is relatively young, but the hallowed ground the theatre sits on is older than half the Earth Kingdom. Once upon a time, every grade schooler on the continent could tell you the legend of Hou Ying, an ethereal dancer that learned airbending from a spirit named Fēng. Air became part of her body, an extension of her limbs, an anchor for her soul. People traveled days and weeks, from the arctic Water Tribes, and the furthest reaches of the Fire Nation, to see her perform. Her feats of motion left even the most hardened viewer awestruck. 

Hou Ying is said to have danced everyday of her life, lived 150 years, and died a legend in a mountainous village just miles from what is now Zaofu. Her death left a void in the world, a cultural chasm of sorts, and those who loved her wanted a way to memorialize her work. During the era of Avatar Yangchen, when the Air Nomads and Earth Kingdom lived in harmony, people came together and cleared a plot of land. The earth was tilled, and a statue was raised, immortalizing Hou Ying’s legacy. The base of the statue was an intricate tangle of wind pipes that could only be played by a group of airbenders. Before Sozin’s reign, it was customary for people from all nations to gather and perform beneath Hou Ying’s statue while airbenders created symphonic music.

The tradition died during the dark days of the war. Harsh weather and poor upkeep destroyed the statue, and what once was a sacred venue, turned to grass and rocks. Suyin only found out about the erased history when Baatar found a plaque buried deep beneath the pasture they picked out for their first construction site. Su pledged to restore the great monument, thus creating her plan to build the Hou Ying Dance Theatre. 

The Zaofu Dance Troupe was the most popular act amongst the theatre’s repertory. Suyin choreographed elegant displays of acrobatics and ballet, each dancer a loyal liege, the troupe a collection of synchronous bodies moving as one. Every production was endowed by Suyin’s personal bank. Every performance was carefully planned in her study. Every minute detail was meticulously attended to under her heedful eye. It was difficult to imagine the day she would bequeath her role as Artistic Director to a rising star with the strength to lead the troupe into a new era of success. 

* * *

It had been three months since Suyin’s passing. The black banners of mourning had been lowered, neatly folded, and stored away. Her statue was under construction at the northern gates; a towering fifty foot symbol of reverie, lest she ever be forgotten as the city’s first matriarch. There was a short week of feuding amongst the Beifong siblings as they worked to choose Suyin's successor. How would the city turn the page? What did the future hold for Zaofu?

Opal insisted on remaining in Republic City at Air Temple Island. She and Bolin had made a life together, and she wasn’t willing to give that up. Baatar Jr. left ten years earlier when his house arrest ended. He put down roots in Ba Sing Se teaching at the university, wholly unconcerned with his family’s business. Wing and Wei were just too inexperienced in leadership matters, and any thought of Huan was a nonstarter. 

Baatar Sr. was in poor health, but he felt he knew Suyin better than anyone, so his word was what they relied on. He had spent fifty years loving her, adopting her dreams, bringing to life her most fantastic imaginings. In the end, when she was weak and broken down to her most vulnerable form, he’d sit and ask her what she wanted people to remember her for. 

_“I was not the redeemed woman I painted myself to be, Baatar. I thought I could cover my mistakes with accomplishments, notoriety, and good will. I was wrong.”_

Redemption is not simply abandoning the path of malfeasance; redemption requires justice for those who are harmed. Suyin's list of loved ones harmed was rather short. Toph passed away on the coldest day of the year, some time after helping defeat Guan, and a few months after meeting her first great grandchild, Baatar’s son Zhang. Lin refused Suyin’s penance, having found the healing she needed through her love of Izumi. That left but one person on Su’s list—Kuvira, her prodigal child who she neglected to raise, settling for bare necessities, and good intentions. Kuvira deserved so much more than Su ever thought to give her.

A city...a clan...a family is only as strong as its leader. Every one of Kuvira’s failures fell squarely on Suyin’s shoulders. This one thing, though it came on her deathbed, was the least she could do.

* * *

The hushed roar of chattering patrons is the most soothing sound in the world. Kuvira sneaks out of her dressing room and tucks herself behind the heavy red curtains, for warmth and for cover, so she can listen to the bustle. There’s the faint tapping of the maestro’s baton against the music stand. Several women are laughing louder than any joke warrants, undoubtedly trying to win their date’s affection. The worn chairs make a pitchy grinding noise when they’re unfolded for seating. Still, Kuvira can hear her, not clearly enough to recognize words, but she knows the key of Korra’s voice like no other. It’s distinctive and inviting, its own genre of music. Kuvira was addicted to it. She hid just off stage for as long as she could, listening intently, comforted by her wife’s presence.

It was a big night for so many reasons—where to begin? This was Kuvira’s first show as the Artistic Director of the dance company. She had always dreamed of leading it one day, but never fully believed that Suyin would choose her. Why would she start doing that after decades of putting Kuvira last?

It took weeks for the initial shock to wear off after Kuvira read the letter Suyin left.

> _I thought myself a saint for collecting experiences without a care for who got hurt, then building a home where I could never be judged for my dealings with the devil. I’m finding out too late just how wrong I was. You, dear Kuvira, are a force, the likes of which the earth hasn’t seen in many centuries. I never found a task that you couldn’t accomplish. I failed you the day I refused to help save our home. I reverted into myself, scared of being my grandmother, and unwilling to face my demons. I hope that this apology is worth something, and if nothing else, I hope you know you’re worthy. There’s no one more deserving of this position than you. Please know that I’m proud of you, what you overcame, and the leader you’re destined to be. You’re twice the woman I ever was and I can’t take credit for that. I can only express my sincere admiration, and deep gratitude for you allowing me a second chance to make things right._
> 
> _I love you,_
> 
> _Su_

It felt a little too late, but brought Kuvira to her knees. It was what she always wanted but figured she would never have. During and after house arrest, she and Su reconciled, and did the dreary work of moving on, but it never felt full. It wasn’t until she received the letter that Kuvira knew for sure; she was loved.

Then the work began. She had twenty professionally trained dancers to oversee, productions to put on, and a theatre to run. It was grueling work, but a labor of love. Kuvira was good at so many things, yet dance was her true passion. When all else was a storm of chaos, dancing was a lulling reprieve. She leaned into the work, gave it all of herself, and prepared diligently for this very night. 

* * *

Baatar holds Zhang’s hand as they make their way to center stage. Korra and the rest of the audience settle into their seats, giving him their undivided attention. He leans down to the six year old and whispers in his ear before stepping to the mic.

“I want to thank you all for coming. My mother would have been ecstatic to see so many familiar faces in this historical place. I must admit, as a boy, I didn’t quite understand her obsession with this place, but now, I see. Through my son’s eyes, I’ve come to appreciate my childhood home and all the things my mother built. She lived a very fruitful life, and she'd find it more than fitting that Kuvira has graciously accepted her new role as Matriarch of Zaofu, and Director of the Dance Troupe. The future is bright.”

The audience applauds Baatar’s humble words, and laughs lightheartedly as Zhang adds a few colorful notes at the end. They trade places with Opal, Huan, Wing and Wei, who collectively announce the night’s program before disappearing stage right. The lights go down and the ushers close the doors, the darkness signals the beginning of the show.

Flutes, piccolos, violins, and violas come together for a burst of sound, airy, and staccato. It is Act I — _La fête de Raymonde_ of the classic ballet, Raymonda. Kuvira leads the performance, a spellbinding vision of movement. Every lunge and plié, attitude and assemblé, pulled the audience in closer, drawing their eyes across the stage, following the story of dance and sound. More than anyone there, Korra is awestruck, her fingers tightly wrapped around the stems of a bouquet. 

She thought of how Kuvira had overcome so much, it hurt to remember it all. Even the stories Korra had heard before were terrifically painful to hear from Kuvira’s point of view. Yet, there she was, bounding across the stage with what felt like every eye in the world trained to her every move, stoic and unshaken.

There were nights when Korra found Kuvira standing in the mirror, studying her own form, dragging her fingers across fading scars. She didn’t have to ask, she knew what it was like to see a stranger in your own reflection. Those were the hardest nights, but they always found solace in the morning sun.

Pride does not begin to explain how Korra feels as she sits through _Visions_ and _L'aurore_. Kuvira’s elongated physique possesses an irenic quality. Her technique is miraculous. She is a marvel when fully immersed in a craft she loves. 

No one in attendance wants the show to end but the curtains draw as the piano blares a dramatic close to the number. A thunderous applause erupts from the crowd, laden with an amalgam of grief and amazement. Kuvira did more than rise to the occasion and fill Suyin’s shoes—she eclipsed every expectation bestowed upon her. 

* * *

“Excuse me, I’m sorry, I was looking for the star of the show.” Korra raps on the doorframe of Kuvria’s dressing room with her knuckle, pretending to be a lowly fan. 

“Oh hush,” Kuvira shoots back without even turning to see. That voice, she always recognizes. “Honestly,” she starts, a tuft of cotton dabbing away her makeup. “How was it?”

Korra didn’t answer, choosing instead to wait for her wife’s gaze. Anxious to hear a response, Kuvira whips around, a cunning quip at the tip of tongue, but dissolves into a fawning mess before she can say a thing. “Korra.”

Fifty blooming roses cover Korra’s face until she lowers the bouquet to reveal her crooked grin. “For you, love.”

“You shouldn’t have,” Kuvira sings. She looks around her tiny dressing room for a place to set them. “No really, I don’t have anywhere to keep these,” she jests. 

Korra keeps the flowers in her hand as she lifts Kuvira off her feet into a suffocating hug. Truly, the taller woman doesn’t mind, she just dips her head to take Korra’s lips with her own, bracing herself with a firm grip around Korra’s neck. Luckily, most people have dispersed from backstage because the moan that escapes Kuvira’s throat is more carnal, and much louder than she expected.

“There’s still people here,” she mutters against Korra’s lips. 

“I know.”

“So, we can’t…” her words trail off into a muted whisper as she’s carried further into the dressing room. Korra blindly kicks the door closed and sits Kuvira on the vanity.

“I meant to tell you...the show was great.”

Kuvira can hardly hear her between the languid kisses dotting her neck. Her legs cross behind and pull Korra closer between her legs.

Thankfully, Kuvira has already slipped out of her scene three tutu and leotard, leaving her in nothing but tights and a bandeau bra. Korra is extremely appreciative as she pushes her against the mirror and cups a breast. Her thumb lightly caresses Kuvira’s nipple until it’s firm and pert. Maybe they could have stopped, if it weren’t such an exciting night, and Kuvira didn’t smell like pomegranates and sweat, but Korra couldn't help herself, hands pulling down the waist of Kuvira’s tights.

“Korra.” It’s not a question, or a request to stop, but a revelation that there’s nothing that can halt the steady stream of moisture dampening her clothes. 

“Yes?” Korra slides her tongue along Kuvira’s jawline and catches her teeth on the naked earlobe. Her free hand latches onto Kuvira’s braid and takes it hostage. A helpless whimper follows, goading Korra into kissing Kuvira. This time it’s forceful, wanton, and dripping with lust. Flashes of her wife mid-arabesque are enough to make Korra feral. 

“Yes,” Kuvira moans, thoroughly lost in the sensation of slight tugging on her hair. In every other aspect of her life she is firmly in control. It’s satisfying to let Korra take the lead, so she spreads her legs more, welcoming the weight of Korra’s hips, and the pressure that they bring. 

A hand descends between Kuvira’s legs and wastes no time finding her clit, already swollen with need. Soft circles make Kuvira buck into Korra’s hand, searching for something rougher, hoping for release. Weeks of endless, tedious rehearsals meant she hadn’t enjoyed her wife’s touch in the same amount of time. She desperately wanted to come.

“Fuck,” she pants, her bottom lip trapped between Korra’s teeth. That same hand is gliding through her folds and teasing at her entrance, testing how wet she is, steeping in the dripping heat. Kuvira almost hollers when two thick fingers slide inside, but Korra consumes her cries with fervent kisses. 

She fucks Kuvira slowly, at first, happy to feel every muscle clench around her digits, and savor the ragged breaths rushing past her ear. But it’s not long before she’s pistoning faster, summoning rivers that drench Kuvira’s panties, and tights, and vanity. The room takes on the musky scent of exhaustion and sex. The air fills up with muffled screams and pleads for more. Korra keeps her pace, working into Kuvira the way she deserves, servicing her most primal needs like no one can.

“Don’t stop...right there,” Kuvira begs, inching towards the edge of the countertop, throwing her head back unconsciously. Soon she’s split in half, her mind ripped from her body as she rockets to a tremulous peak. “Oh, Korra...fuck, Korra.”

It takes some minutes for her orgasm to subside, her abs and thighs and ass all cramping from her uncontrollable clenching. Kuvira tries to talk, to say thank you or something of the sort, but her mouth is too dry. Instead, Korra kisses her again, soft and doting, before she retracts with a smile. 

“I’m so proud of you,” she whispers against Kuvira’s ear. 

There’s no reply, and one isn’t needed. They sit wrapped around each other, enjoying the heady scent, and sharing sweet nothings. At some point, Kuvira gets dressed and Korra takes a seat while she does. Then they make their way to the local noodle spot and share a quiet dinner aside from a few fans that come and ask Kuvira for her autograph. 

After the performance, Kuvira feels more confident than ever in her ability to lead. She was the woman she always thought she could be—fearless, prudent, and measured. Every obstacle seemed surmountable, and it made a world of difference to have Korra right by her side. 


End file.
